SECRET KEEPER
CHAPTER EIGHT
October 31, 1981
The sun rose early over Godric's Hollow, and with it, so did Lily Potter. Taking care not to wake James, who was still sleeping soundly, she quietly slipped out of bed, and, pulling on a thin sweater, stole down the stairs and into the kitchen.
She was strangely restless; that night's sleep had not been a good one, and she had been left feeling anxious and frazzled. She tiredly brushed some of her dark red hair out of her face as she sat down at the kitchen table with a mug full of black coffee. She generally did not indulge in the beverage (she tried to leave the caffeine-overdosing to her husband and his hyperactive friends), but this morning, she needed a 'perk-me-up', so to speak—and so she found herself with her elbows propped up on the table and a cup full of the bitter liquid in front of her.
It's so odd, she surmised, taking another sip of her drink. Five years ago, I never would have imagined that I would be where I am today...
It seemed like only yesterday that she was sixteen, studying for her OWLS, gossiping with her friends, and trying to ignore that arrogant prat Potter (she giggled, thinking of the said prat who was snoring soundly upstairs). Life had been so simple—everything had fit into the equation perfectly. Sure, she had had her own share of petty troubles and such (she scowled, remembering Petunia, whom she hadn't talked to in years), but for the most part, her day-by-day routine hadn't really suffered much change—it was always 'so-and-so' was going out with 'so-and-so', James Potter was so annoying, 'so-and-so' professor had suspended 'so-and-so', Sirius Black's swarming fan-club had gotten even larger, and James Potter was so annoying. Then, she had fallen in love with the aforementioned James Potter, and her life had upgraded itself from 'my-autobiography-could-put-a-cow-to-sleep' to some sort of incredibly Austen-esque fairy tale (she smiled at the unconscious allusion to Muggle literature—it was something she had not forsaken with her transition into the wizarding world). After graduation, it seemed as if everything had just fallen together for her—she and James had grown closer, she and James had fallen even more in love (though, according to their friends, that was impossible), James had proposed to her... she said yes... they had gotten married... they had had Harry. Oh, it had all seemed so complex back then, when the world had been nothing but her little bubble and the select few that she allowed into it, but now! Now was turmoil, now was confusion, now was stress and anxiety and unpredictability! Now that she reflected back on her past life, she finally realized what a small person she was, what a small life she had led...
Small, but content, she mused to herself. Oh, what wouldn't I give to feel that small again...?
Snape tried not to let his weariness show as he knelt between Christopher Crabbe and Rabastan Lestrange, waiting for the appearance of the Dark Lord. They had all received early morning summons (Snape gritted his teeth, thinking of the pain of his left forearm); while the Dark Lord was known for liking efficiency and promptness, he had never before called his Death Eaters to him at this hour. Most Death Eater meetings took place in the late afternoon or evening so that those who had not openly revealed themselves as Death Eaters would not be placed under suspicion; now, however, it was approximately two hours after sunrise, a most unusual time for the Dark Lord's followers to gather. Apparently, Snape was not the only one who was not expecting the morning meeting—he noticed a thin straight-backed wizard who wasn't donning a complete set of Death Eater apparel; the man had worn a mask, so that his face was hidden, but his plainly-cut gray robes told Snape that this man had obviously dressed thinking to prepare for his day job, not a Death Eater revel.
There were a few more popping noises in the air as a few stragglers Apparated in; then, there was silence, but Snape noticed that there were still holes in the circle—who was missing? He mentally scanned the ranks of Death Eaters—those present and those who ought to have been present—and bit his lower lip in silent contemplation. Who was gone? Antonin Dolohov should have been standing to the other side of Rabastan Lestrange; the spot, however, was empty. A few more seconds of deliberation revealed that Lucius Malfoy, too, was gone—strange, Malfoy is usually one of the most prompt... doesn't like to suffer the Dark Lord's displeasure. And who else? One last empty space... to the left of Rodolphus Lestrange...
Snape's facial expression did not change but surprise echoed through his mind...
If I've ever known Bellatrix Lestrange to not answer a summons, I'll befriend James Potter.
Something was definitely going on. And he didn't like it at all.
Suddenly, a sudden hush fell over the congregation of Death Eaters, and though he did not look up, Snape knew instinctively what had happened; the eerie tingle that crept through his spine and the cold chill in his fingers signaled the arrival of the Dark Lord. Glancing for a moment at his tightly clenched knuckles, he noticed that they had turned white.
The Dark Lord's tall, shadowy form seemed even more formidable than usual as the red-eyed man stalked slowly towards the kneeling circle. His cold gaze swept scornfully around the room, searching into the faces of each and every one of the bent figures, who dared not look up. Snape could make out three slightly obscure figures standing a bit to the Dark Lord's left, whom he concluded had to be the conspicuously absent Malfoy, Dolohov, and Bellatrix Lestrange, though the lighting was too poor for him to observe any distinguishing features. The thinnest one standing on the far right had to be Bellatrix, but the two men he could not establish between; he did notice, however, that one of them appeared to be carrying... something. Snape squinted, trying to make out a clearer picture of the scene before him, but he dared not move his head or raise his gaze, lest he attract the attention of the Dark Lord or any of the other Death Eaters.
He thought he heard a slight whimper in the background as the Dark Lord approached one of the kneeling Death Eaters, a rather small man, who stood up hastily as his master beckoned to him with a wave of the hand. The Dark Lord whispered something into his servant's ear, and Snape leaned forward as much as possible, straining to hear as much of the conversation as he could. The Dark Lord, however, was carefully quiet; Snape couldn't discern a word of what was said, but did, however, catch a few whispers of the small man's nervously mumbled reply:
"—can't t-track us... department destroyed P-portkey records... Lafalla—I think—"
The Dark Lord gave a sharp nod, apparently satisfied with whatever he had just heard. Snape quickly bowed his head even lower than before, afraid that someone would notice his unusual activity. However, no one did; the Dark Lord kept walking at his carefully controlled pace as he gestured for another Death Eater to stand up. The three hidden figures—presumably Malfoy, Dolohov, and Bellatrix—remained unmoving in the shadows.
"All is going as planned, Rookwood?" the Dark Lord asked, addressing the gray-robed man whom Snape had observed earlier.
Rookwood! Snape practically shouted to himself, all while keeping a falsely stony expression across his features. The Unspeakable! A spy for the Dark Lord?!
He could scarcely believe it. Augustus Rookwood, spying for the Dark side? His keenly critical eye noted Rookwood's straight, stiff-backed posture and lean build... could this be the man—the spy—whom he had observed just the other day? Snape could almost feel the blood rushing to his ears in his effort to pick up on the conversation.
The man in the crisp gray robes—Rookwood—lowered his head respectfully.
"Yes, m'lord," he murmered reverently. Though he was not speaking loudly, he had not troubled to keep his voice down. "It is set."
"Good." The Dark Lord gave a sharp nod of approval in Rookwood's direction before taking a few stalking steps into the middle of the circle. Rookwood and the small man sank bank into their kneeling positions. The three Death Eaters in the background also took a few steps forward, as if on cue, and now, the room's dim lighting streaking across their faces, Snape could immediately see that his guesswork and deduction had been correct—the figures had indeed been Bellatrix, Dolohov, and Malfoy.
"Rise," the tall, red-eyed man hissed in his quiet, yet deadly, voice.
There was a shuffling of robes and a scrambling of feet as the Death Eaters hurried to obey the order. Dolohov, too, had slunk back into the circle, but Malfoy and Bellatrix appeared to be shifting something around. They alternated between muttering between themselves, throwing occasional looks at the Dark Lord and the circle, and glancing towards the area around their feet. Snape bit the inside of his lower lip, trying to observe their actions without making his intentions blatantly obvious, which was difficult, as all in the room was shadowed by a thick veil of darkness. He mentally cursed the Dark Lord for not having proper windows installed in the dim, shady room.
The Dark Lord surveyed the group a few seconds before speaking.
"My friends..." he whispered slowly. "My comrades..."
There was a hum of anticipation around the circle.
"Perhaps you are wondering," he murmured softly, a sort of quiet drama in his cold, high voice. "You wonder why I have summoned you here so early, at such an unusual time... you wonder why I have deviated from our established routin, why I have disrupted your schedules... I understand that some of you" —he glanced at Rookwood— "may have had to... compromise certain aspects of your agenda to arrive here now."
Another buzz of whispering spread amongst the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord raised his hand to silence them. Snape's hands clenched even more tightly than before.
"We are all gathered here this morning for one reason, and for the same reason. You are all here now to witness the first step towards my victory against Albus Dumbledore. Today is a milestone. Today marks the beginning..."
Now, there were a lot of questioning murmurs; Snape himself barely had time to register the meaning behind the words when the Dark Lord spoke again.
"Observe," the red-eyed man said simply as he gestured to Malfoy and Bellatrix. Stepping forward, they dumped whatever they had been holding unceremoniously onto the floor in front of Voldemort's feet, and now there was no need for Snape to strain; he got quite an eyeful of what—or rather who—had been the reason behind the Dark Lord's early morning activity.
His mouth dropped open in shock and horror as he recognized the figure that lay sprawled, unconscious, on the floor.
The first thought that fluttered back into his head was 'Write to Dumbledore!'
Stepping back into the shadows and praying that he wasn't noticed, Severus Snape quietly Disapparated away from the circle of Death Eaters.
"Hey."
Startled out of her distant train of thought, Lily looked up, only to see a very sleepy-looking James standing the doorway. He was still in his pajamas, and his jet-black hair was messier than ever as he blinked a few times, his eyes obviously adjusting to the change in lighting. He wrinkled his nose slightly before putting on his glasses.
"James! What are you doing up?" It was less of a question and more of an opening for conversation.
"I could ask you the same question," he said, an amused look crossing his face, which was looking slightly paler than usual in the dim light of the early morning. "I woke up and noticed you weren't there. Everything all right?"
"Yeah," she sighed, folding her hands prettily under her chin. "Just woke up and couldn't fall asleep again." To put it simply.
James' eyes traveled over to the table and the cup in front of her.
"You're drinking coffee," he noted wryly, a tone of slight surprise in his voice.
"Yeah. So?"
"You never drink coffee, Lily."
What a keen observation, Lily thought wryly to herself, though she was amused with her husband's matter-of-fact frankness. Aloud, she said:
"There's got to be a first for everything, hasn't there? Besides, would you rather I drank whiskey or something?"
"Point taken." He slid into the seat across from her, grabbing a newspaper off the counter as he went. "When is this from?"
"Today, I think," Lily replied, sipping her coffee slowly. It left a slightly bitter taste on the tip of her tongue, one that she did not enjoy, but its effects were very soothing on her nerves. "Arrived by owl post this morning. You read it. I'll make some toast for us."
She arose and busied herself about the kitchen, fetching a bit of bread and a platter of butter. She enjoyed the feeling of familiarity in the kitchen, of knowing where everything was, the covert contents of each drawer and cabinet. When she had agreed to marry James, she had vowed never to become one of the trophy-wife housekeeper sort, but she had to admit that occasionally, she did enjoy sporting the crown of domestic godliness.
"Thanks, dear," said James gratefully. He reached across the table and sampled some of his wife's coffee. "Blech! No sugar! How do you drink this stuff?"
"Just because you feel the need to add cupfuls of sugar to whatever you eat doesn't mean I do too, dear," Lily replied in a somewhat vague tone of voice as she began slicing toast.
"No sane person could drink this stuff without adding cream or sugar, or both," James told his wife pointedly.
"I happen to know for a fact that Sirius drinks black coffee every morning."
"I said sane person, Lily."
"Point taken," she conceded, reiterating her husband's phrase from earlier. She placed the sliced toast on two plates and spread liberal amounts of butter over her own.
"Butter, James?"
"Yes, please."
She buttered up the other slice of toast; then, with a casual wave of her wand, sent one of the two plates flying over to the kitchen table, where James was still absorbed in the Daily Prophet. James watched with a raised eyebrow as his toast skidded to a stop on the table with a loud scudding sound.
"Thanks," he said, taking a large bite. "Take a seat, would you?"
Lily, her own plate in tow, sat and glanced over at her husband; as she did so, something on the page he was reading caught her eye…
"James," she said. "Let me see that paper."
"Huh?" James blinked, a small crumb of toast hanging off the corner of his mouth.
"I want to see something," Lily repeated impatiently. "Give me that page... no, not that one, that one... yeah…"
James looked slightly bewildered as Lily quickly read the article to herself.
EMPLOYEE AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD SHOCKS
MINISTRY BY ANNOUNCING MARRIAGE
Yesterday morning in an unprecedented move, Depart-
ment of Mysteries employee Augustus Rookwood surprised
his entire department by announcing his forthcoming marriage
to Katarina Sorenson. Never before has a worker in the highly
surreptitious Dept. of Mysteries ever married—while not in
violation of any department policies, it is considered highly
unusual and is generally frowned upon.
"It's outrageous," remarked Broderick Bode, a cowor-
ker of Rookwood's. "When one is working in a department as
important as the Dept. of Mysteries, they cannot afford to put
department confidentiality at risk for the sake of their love life.
This marriage of Rookwood's is ridiculous; if I were his boss,
I would be expecting his resignation any day now."
"Hmmm." Lily subconsciously furrowed her brow in concentration.
"What is it?" James questioned, abandoning his own reading and looking at his wife curiously.
"Katarina Sorenson... " There was a strange familiarity about the name... something stirred thickly in Lily's memory... of course! "Isn't Sorenson the name of Peter's boss?"
A light thud could be heard as James dropped his toast back onto the plate.
"Sorenson... where does it mention that?" he asked with raised eyebrows, straining his neck to read the article upside-down.
"It's the surname of the girl that Augustus Rookwood's marrying," replied Lily. "Her name is Katarina Sorenson."
"Katarina? You're right—Peter's boss is her father. Eugene Sorenson... interesting..." James murmured.
"Didn't you say yesterday that you'd heard of him?" Lily asked, glancing up at her husband. "How d'you know him?"
"Sorenson is a friend of Sirius' dad," James said darkly. "And from what I know, anyone who's in that crowd isn't good news."
Lily chewed pensively on another piece of toast. "Well, you can't be that prejudiced, James," she said flatly. "After all, Sirius was raised by people in what you call 'that crowd', and he turned out perfectly fine."
James snickered, but said nothing.
Lily sighed, realizing that if there was any word to describe her husband's eccentric best friend, 'fine' was not one of them.
"Okay, okay, bad example," she added quickly. "But just because someone's family is associated with the Dark side doesn't make them evil."
"I know that... but I still wouldn't put anything past them."
Lily shrugged her shoulders in defeat. "It's still strange though," she said. "Isn't it true that most marriages in those old pureblood families are arranged?"
"Yeah, so?"
"If the Sorensons are friends of the Blacks, as you say, then I think it's safe to assume that Katarina Sorenson and Augustus Rookwood aren't in love, and that their marriage was arranged in the traditional way... but if that's true, why would Augustus Rookwood agree to enter a marriage that would put his career into jeopardy, if it had no other benefit to him?"
"You're right," James said slowly. "It does seem odd, doesn't it? Neither the Sorensons nor the Rookwoods are exactly rich, so neither side can be in this for just the money... but Eugene Sorenson doesn't exactly seem the type to let his daughter marry for love... he'd want her to make a rich a match as possible..."
Lily shrugged again. "I'll never understand how these pureblood families work... ridiculous, how conservative some of them are."
"I agree," James said. "My family never did hold with that etiquette rubbish, ourselves."
"Hmm," Lily murmured in agreement, glancing back down at the newspaper in her hands. She was just about to cast it aside in exchange for another bite of toast and butter, when—
"Wait!" James interjected. "Let me see that!"
"What, this?" Lily asked, waving the newspaper in her hand. "You want to read the article again?"
"No, on the back... there, give me the page."
Handing over the page to James, Lily examined her husband curiously as he took the newspaper, flipped it over, and quickly began reading aloud in hushed and dramatic tones.
DISTURBANCE IN MUGGLE NEIGHBORHOOD—
IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE CALLED TO
INVESTIGATE
Last night, the Ministry of Magic issued a statement
informing the public that it is doing its best to investigate a
mysterious magical disturbance at an undisclosed area in
Muggle England.
At approximately eleven o'clock PM yesterday, sev-
eral Muggles reported sighting of "bright, flashing beams of
light" and "people disappearing into thin air" to their local
law enforcers, called "policemen". Word of the "phenome-
non" reached the ears of the Muggle Prime Minister, who
prompty alerted Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold. Mem-
bers of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, inclu-
ding Obliviators, were immediately dispatched to the scene
of the magical activity. Upon arrival, they discovered no
traces of the presence of any wizards, save a wand, which has
been taken to Mr. Ollivander, expert wandmaker, for identifi-
cation.
Ministry workers questioned Muggle witnesses about
the incident, modifying their memories later. Details have not
been disclosed to the public at this time; however, it has been
confirmed by the Dept. of Magical Law Enforcement that no
less than four witches or wizards used magic in violation of
the International Statute of Secrecy, and then disappeared.
Members of the Improper Use of Magic Office later
called in to investigate state that the perpetrators escaped via
use of illegal Portkey; however, the Dept. of Magical Trans-
portation claims that this is not true.
"The department carefully regulations all traveling by
magical means, including Apparition, Floo, and use of Port-
keys, and there were no irregular occurrences as of yesterday,"
said intern Peter Pettigrew (21), speaking on behalf of depart-
ment head Eugene Sorenson, who was unavailable for com-
ment. "There is no way the department could trace the loca-
tion of the violators; they must have escaped by non-magical
means."
The Ministry urges anyone with potentially useful in-
formation to please come forward. "It is of utmost importance
to the security of the magical community that we discover
who has done this," said Bartemius Crouch, head of the Dept.
of Magical Law Enforcement. "The matter may seem trivial
to some, but it is imperative that we apprehend all threats to
the secretive status of our society. There is also the possibility
that the perpetrators could be Death Eaters—if so, it is cru-
cial that they be brought to justice."
Albus Dumbledore's face was grim as he sat alone in his office, the morning's copy of the Daily Prophet lying open on the desk in front of him. He knew, of course, everything that had happened—he had known it before he had even read the article, before he had even opened the newspaper whose contents were now sprawled out in front him. He knew everything that had transpired that morning and the evening before, even more so than what was reported in the paper or to the employees of the Ministry. He knew all this, and more, but yet, he was still puzzled.
He was puzzled because something was not right.
It just didn't make sense. It should have, but it just didn't. Not in the slightest. Not at all.
It was really only a matter of two questions, he supposed. Two questions that were so simple, but so important... there was a lot that depended on the answers to those two questions...
Had Sirius Black betrayed the Order?
He fiddled with the curled edge of the Daily Prophet.
And if Sirius hadn't, than who had?
It was these two questions that created all the other ones that were currently swarming around in Dumbledore's mind. It was all so confusing.
He was beginning to more and more doubt that Sirius had betrayed the Order... after all, if Sirius had turned to the Dark side (which was quite an abstract thought in itself, despite what Severus had said earlier), then by all rights, the Potters should have died days ago. The fact that they were still alive and well (or as well as one could be under self-imposed house arrest) meant that Voldemort still could not find them—because Dumbledore was sure that the Dark Lord would not delay his attack for a moment if he was sure that he would be able to enter the Potters' home at Godric's Hollow.
But then again, it could all be a ploy, designed to hide the traitor's true identity until it was too late. Dumbledore hated having such suspicions about a former pupil, especially one who claimed to be so passionately against the Dark arts—but Sirius' background did speak against him, and with talents and his closeness to many of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, the Hogwarts headmaster was sure that Sirius would be considered by Voldemort as a potentially ideal spy... not to mention what Severus had reported... and so Dumbledore's qualms weren't entirely unfounded, not by a long shot anyways.
But he knew it would hurt—badly—if he accused Sirius of being involved with the Dark side and it turned out that the man was completely innocent—especially considering what Sirius had gone through at home, his childhood...
But if not Sirius, then who?
That question was even harder to answer than the first.
The fact that made the matter even more complicated was contained in the letter that Mr. Ollivander had sent to him this morning. It was not long; it did not need to be. The notes consisted of only six words; those six words told him all that he needed to know—for the moment, anyways.
'The wand belongs to Sirius Black.'
Dumbledore had had mixed reactions upon seeing this letter. His first thought was one of relief—Sirius had not turned traitor after all. This was proof. His second thought was one of doubt and fear—Sirius had betrayed them, and had been passing news of the Order and the Potters to Voldemort. One deep breath later, he managed to convince himself that this was an irrational conclusion. If Sirius had turned traitor, why bother staging his kidnapping? Why bother drawing unnecessary Ministry—and Order—attention on a man who was trying to keep his double-agent role as secretive as possible? The idea was completely illogical. Another hypothesis was that last night's activities were not a kidnapping at all—perhaps Sirius had willingly left with the Death Eaters. But this didn't make sense either, and again the doubts were the same: why would they attract so much attention to someone who wanted his identity to remain hidden? And if Sirius had meant to leave his place of hiding, why would he have done so through the roof, of all places? Breaking a window in the process? It didn't make sense.
And, thus, the two questions.
The identity of their betrayer was already limited to a very small amount of people. It was an Order member—that was stating the obvious. Severus had reported that he had witnessed two spies, at least one of whom he suspected to be working for the Ministry—could one of them have been the same man whom had betrayed the Order of the Phoenix? He was almost a hundred percent positive that it was a man; from Severus' accounts and his own experience, he knew that very few Death Eaters were women—in fact, the only woman in Voldemort's 'inner circle' was Bellatrix Lestrange. Also, because of the nature of the information given to Voldemort, Dumbledore had also suspected that the spy had been a friend of the Potters—now, with today's news, this was almost confirmed.
And whomever it was had known where Sirius Black had been hiding.
The only people who should have known that were Dumbledore, Lily and James Potter, and Sirius Black himself.
Lily and James would have no reason to want anyone to know where their Secret-Keeper was; if Sirius were indeed loyal to the Order (Dumbledore was becoming more and more confident on this by the moment), there would be no reason for him to want to turn himself over to Voldemort. It was very unlikely that either the Dark Lord or the Death Eaters would have been able to find Sirius through plain trial and error; Sirius was much cleverer than that, and besides, the neighborhood that he had situated himself in was obscure, even by Muggle standards.
So how? How did they find him? How did the traitor know?
Ordinarily, the two most logical guesses would be Remus Lupin or Peter Pettigrew, Order members and mutual friends of both James Potter and Sirius Black, but Dumbledore felt fairly sure that James, no matter how much he trusted them, would not have told Remus or Peter where Sirius was hiding. James would never do anything that even stood a chance of endangering the life of his best friend—that much Dumbledore knew. Especially if the aforementioned 'anything' would also endanger his own life, his wife's, and that of his one year-old child. But if James and Lily were the only other two people who knew of Sirius' location, how had anyone else found out? How had Voldemort found out?
There was no plausible explanation, and this was what worried Dumbledore the most. He stroked his long silver beard contemplatively.
He was just about to set the letter and newspaper aside, when a small brown owl came flying in through his office window. It usually wouldn't have attracted his attention at all (after all, as the headmaster of Hogwarts, there were many demands on his time, and many people owled him with messages), but he knew he recognized the tidy yet painfully compact writing on the front of the envelope as that of Severus Snape. Calmly, but with a small amount of trepidation, he plucked the letter from the owl's grasp and carefully slit open the parchment.
The first few lines of the letter only served as grim confirmation of the news he had already received (though it had probably been quite a surprise for Severus). He sighed slightly, thinking of the bleakness of the situation; however, as his eyes skimmed over the last of what his faithful spy had reported, he had an epiphany and the gloomy aura dissipated almost immediately, replaced with a flash of realization. Drawing in a sharp breath, he thought back to the newspaper articles sprawled open on his desk, the information that he had been gathering and receiving for the past few months, the numerous letters he had received, the note from Ollivander—he thought, and suddenly, everything came together, everything made sense...
Why had he not seen it before?
*
"Last year all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you... This year we know that there's someone outside Hogwarts who'd like to kill us all, so I think learning to defend yourselves properly is a very good idea!"—Sirius Black, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Scholastic Edition, pg. 371